


And then the Lamb met the Lion

by cuphugaddict



Series: The Wrath of the Lamb [2]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Light Angst, M/M, Not Beta Read, Post-Season/Series 03, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-12
Updated: 2018-01-12
Packaged: 2019-03-03 20:44:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13349184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuphugaddict/pseuds/cuphugaddict
Summary: During one horrendous night-out at a bar, Frederick gets talked up by a good-looking guy who claims to be a fan of his. Too good to be true? That's exactly what Frederick thinks ...





	And then the Lamb met the Lion

**Author's Note:**

> As promised, I'm being nicer to Frederick in this one.  
> I hope you enjoy!

 

 

Frederick cursed himself – cursed himself for listening to Alana goddamn Bloom.  
And really, shouldn’t her role in the whole Red Dragon-set up have been enough to teach him to stay away from that woman and her advice? But no, of course he had been running back to her. Damn her hospital visits and the flowers she had usually left for him. Needless to say, he would have run back to Will as well were he on the radar. Old habits die hard, he guessed.

Listening to Alana meant that he was getting out more. Well, attempting to, at least.  
She was _concerned for his well-being_ , quote Alana. So here he was, at one of his previously preferred bars and nursing a scotch. For half an hour. And it was terrible.  
Not just the taste that he couldn’t quite grasp anymore, no. What was way worse than not being able to taste what he had formerly enjoyed a great deal was that nobody could seem to stand to look at him for more than two seconds. Not even the bartender. Yes, he knew that he looked like freshly out of a Frankenstein movie, but one would be led to assume that a bartender had seen his share of disfigured people. Apparently not. And he wouldn’t even start on the other guests … Let him put it this way: If they only looked away after sparing him one glance, he was lucky. Others just frowned in disgust at him.

Why on earth had he listened to the very woman who hid from Hannibal herself? Granted, the last year had her frequent the BSHCI more than the year before that, but still she didn’t even tell him where her son and Margo had hidden. As if Hannibal couldn’t find them if he set his mind to it …

Frederick Chilton made a decision: He would drown his scotch and be on his way home, only stopping at the liquor store around the corner in order to get a bottle of bourbon. Maybe he could taste _that_.

Just as he placed the emptied tumbler on the elegant oak surface of the bar, liquor still in his mouth, a hand laid down on his shoulder. Frederick involuntarily jerked back and almost spit the scotch out. It still reminded him way too much of Dolarhyde …

“Oh, excuse me, I didn’t mean to startle you … You are Doctor Chilton, aren’t you?” an even toned and strong male voice asked. Frederick let his eyes travel up the doubtlessly manicured hand and continued over a grey suit jacket up to the bluest eyes he had ever seen. He needed to gulp. Smiling down at him was probably one of the most handsome men he had come across. Tall, nice suit – not too formal but one could tell that it was an expensive one – even face, carefully styled, dark blonde locks, and wonderfully curved lips with a smile playing on them. And younger than him. Of course.

He realized that he had seen the man once he had entered the bar; he had been sitting alone at a table in the back. Before his accident(s), he might have been bold enough to go over to him and chat him up. Nowadays though, he didn’t even try. The refusals had hurt enough back then.

There was a small scar on the bridge of the stranger’s nose, Frederick noticed before he realized that he was staring. And that he still owed the man an answer. “Yes … Yes, indeed, I am Frederick Chilton. One can leave the Doctor nowadays though, I presume …” He tried his best to articulate himself clearly. But certain sounds didn’t quite come out of his new lips the way he wanted which frustrated him immensely.

The other man however didn’t seem to mind in the slightest. His smile only grew, “I am sorry to interrupt you like this but I just had to come over and tell you what a huge fan I am …” Frederick frowned, “Would you mind if I sat down?” the blonde asked and Frederick was too stunned to say anything, so he simply gestured to the bar stool next to him. The man smiled even brighter and waved at the bartender who promptly placed what looked like a Gin and Tonic in front of the man and refilled Frederick’s glass without hesitation. Apparently, that guy was a well-known customer.

The good-looking stranger raised his glass to a toast and Frederick simply clinked his against the offered one. He supposed that was what one did when meeting a fan. Not that he had much experience with situations like this …

“Oh, I have just realized how rude I am, please forgive me. My name is Crispin. Du Maurier. And even if I sound like a teenager I have to admit that I found your book on Hannibal Lecter amazing. The conclusions you drew from the available observations … it was stunning, truly. I practically read it cover to cover.” That smile again, accompanied by a silent chuckle. Frederick was sure that he would soon melt from his bar stool. Also, he was sure that he had heard that name before – but where?

He straightened a bit and also took a sip of his new scotch. Liquid courage never hurt anyone – with taste or without. “Why thank you, Mr. Du Maurier. You are probably one of the very few people who think so …” Frederick aimed at a smirk but he didn’t quite know if he succeeded.

The blonde man shook his head, “Your book is a best seller, Doctor Chilton …”

Frederick snorted, “Well, we both know that that has little to do with me, don’t we?”  
Contrary to common believe, Frederick Chilton wasn’t stupid. He was vain and attention-seeking and sometimes a little over-eager, but he wasn’t stupid. He was aware that literally anybody could have written that book – even Freddie Lounds – and it would most likely still have gotten a best-seller solely for the title-giving protagonist.

Mr. Du Maurier frowned, “I would not say that is one hundred per cent accurate, Doctor Chilton. The conclusions you drew considering his criminal profile – if one foregoes the half-truths you published clearly in his favor – are strikingly accurate. Not that the general public would know that but it doesn’t make it less true …”

Frederick frowned, “But you are not the general public …” He didn’t even know himself if this was a question or not.

The blonde smiled and for the first time cast his eyes down onto the drink in his hands and therefore away from Frederick’s face. To say that the latter was impressed would be an understatement. “I … have known Hannibal. Personally. A long time ago. But I was lucky enough to manage to escape his claws relatively unscarred …” The man pointed towards his nose and looked up at Frederick expectantly.

Frederick’s heart began to race. Was this a trap?

“Were you … one of his patients?” the former psychiatrist inquired, voice slightly pitching, but the man opposite of him shook his head. “Not really. I … Well, I suppose you cannot talk to Hannibal Lecter without being analyzed. But no, I was never his patient.” Frederick’s level of fear increased rapidly. He was sure that if Hannibal were in the same room as him, he could have smelled it. “My sister, Bedelia was his therapist … Well, is his therapist? Who knows with those two, honestly. During the time their relationship was rather close, Hannibal spent a lot of time at our place and … let’s just say, things got intense and I have come to know Hannibal in a way supposedly very few people do. And you, Doctor Chilton, might be among those.” The blonde man smiled at Frederick, whose thoughts were racing through his head.

Du Maurier. Of course – why hadn’t he thought about the blonde woman, who, admittedly, was almost as beautiful as her brother, immediately? He had never met the woman himself, he was not that important to Hannibal he supposed, but he had heard from Jack Crawford about her and of course, he had looked her up online. That had been before Freddie Lounds had started writing about Hannibal’s, Will’s as well as Bedelia’s European adventures. From then on, it had been rather easy to get to know the blonde a little better, although he noticed that Freddie had written way more about Hannibal and Will than about Bedelia Du Maurier. If this was caused by a lack of knowledge on the journalists side – not that that particular thing had ever stopped her before – or her interest in the two “murder husbands” he didn’t know. And now the alleged brother of Hannibal’s wrongly assumed wife was sitting in front of him, smiling. He couldn’t quite believe where this evening had taken him.

Frederick cleared his throat, “I am going to be honest with you, Mr. Du Maurier …”

The blonde man waved his hand, “Please, call me Crispin … or Cris. Mr. Du Maurier was my father …”

Frederick nodded, “Crispin, alright – but only of you call me Frederick.”

The smile on the other man’s face widened, “My pleasure, Frederick …” The former psychiatrist took the offered hand and was not in the slightest surprised by the firm and certain hand shake of the blonde. Maybe his brain was playing tricks on him but for a few seconds it felt as if the other man’s fingers were ghosting over his wrist. Then again, a bullet had graced that particular part of his head so one could never be too sure …

Still, Frederick needed to focus. “I was saying that if I’m being completely honest with you, I find myself rather confused. I don’t really know what I should think about you, your sister, your connection to Hannibal or your motives. And I have learned the hard way not to trust people or else I am going to pay. Repeatedly. So forgive me my … hesitance. It’s nothing personal – I mean, not really …”

Bedelia’s brother smiled, “Of course, that is more than understandable. What has happened to you, it’s … more than a single human being should have to suffer in their life.” Frederick couldn’t help himself, the man sitting next to him truly looked like he meant what he said. Still, Will Graham also had. And apparently both men knew where that had taken him. “I just … I only wanted to come over and tell you how much I admired your work. That was all. Well, and buy you that drink of course.” Crispin smiled and Frederick’s lips moved into a grin on their own accord. Maybe for the first time since the accident. “In that case, thank you. For both.”

Crispin’s lips parted only to reveal two rows of perfectly white teeth. Of course. And then he started to bite his lower lip. Frederick’s heart picked up its pace again. And there he had been, thinking that he was above such mundane things by then. “What is it?” the former psychiatrist asked curiously.

Crispin let out another chuckle, “I am deliberating.”

Frederick nodded, “About what?”

“If I am going to do something rather foolish and almost certainly doomed to failure or if I should be wise and leave it be.” The other man looked up sheepishly at Frederick, who raised his eyebrow. Well, as best as he could, anyway. “And what would that be? Somehow you don’t strike me as the kind of man who doesn’t get what he wants …”

The blonde mirrored his smirk and took one final gulp of his drink, “I am thinking about asking you to join me for … well, maybe not dinner but lunch.”

Frederick was shocked. Was that guy flirting with him? It simply could not be true. Guys like that never looked his way twice, at least in his experience. Still, Bedelia’s brother continued, “Public place of course, your call.” The younger man looked at him expectantly. “What is it?” He asked at Frederick’s frowning face as the same had not yet responded.

The former psychiatrist smirked, “I am deliberating.”

Crispin chuckled, “About what?”

Now Frederick finished his drink before he said, “If I am going to do something rather foolish and most certainly doomed to failure or if I should finally learn from my past mistakes and realize when something sounds too good to be true it most certainly is. … But then, I am not known for learning from my previous mistakes, am I?”

Crispin Du Maurier smiled at him, “It’s a good thing that I am not known for being wise either then.”

 

 


End file.
